Forbidden Thoughts
by musicalsoul85
Summary: Just a little something I couldn't get out my head serving as a break from other stories-in-progress. My first CM fic. Chapter 1 is Emily's private thoughts about one Jennifer Jareau. Following chapters... Who knows. It will be in second person narrative as I wanted to try something different from my usual style. Hope you enoy! Reviews welcomed and appreciated. Rated T for now...
1. Onwards To Battle

You didn't sleep well.

You were up half the night pacing around the apartment, trying to avoid stepping on Sergio, who, like all cats, seems to tale great pleasure in winding around his owner's ankles in a dangerous dance that could lead to injury.

You picked up a pack of cigarettes. Something you only do when things have gotten really, really bad. Way beyond the point of no return and somehow one lone cigarette finds its way to the corner of your mouth, where it rests for a while. You don't light up immediately. You let it hang there. You give yourself the opportunity to put it back where it belongs. But you don't. Not this time. Not last night. Not when you just want to feel something filling you up inside.

Because you are so empty.

You're sitting at your desk, doing your best to ignore the pain writhing inside your head, scrambling your thoughts, making them incoherent and rendering your quick wit and intelligence useless. Besides, who are we in the face of such tremendous torture? Who are we mere mortals in the grip of our exquisite, self inflicted agony?

You see her. You see her exit the elevators and wave good morning to a passing colleague. And for a moment, nothing hurts, for she has the sun and the moon and the stars lighting her path inside.

You have never been one to entertain the overzealous, dramatic influence of religion. But when you see her you would be willing to slide to your knees before any god, maybe even the devil himself, and offer yourself to him if only you could have her.

There is a list of problems. Number one; you are a woman. A scarred, imperfect, ever-so-slightly-decision-making-impaired woman, but a woman nonetheless. Number two; she is straight. This might not have stopped you in the past, for don't we all live for challenges? For things we cannot have, but strive for anyway? If it weren't for Number three, Number two might have been a mere obstacle. And a small one at that.

Ah, but Number three is the real kicker. Number three; she is in a relationship with a man. A kind man. A handsome, brave, caring and understanding man who loves her.

Fuck.

She gazes around the room, her smile radiant, easy, natural. And then your eyes meet and you fear you might drop to the floor in a dead faint when she locks those stunning baby blue eyes solely on you. She waves, and somehow, god knows how, you raise a hand and wave back.

You have coffee for her. You watch, amused, engrossed, as she prises open the lid and inhales deeply. It is her favourite. You have had her memorised for so long, you know every favourite, nearly every hope, almost every dream, and many secrets.

Perhaps you know too much.

But that has always been both a curse and a blessing for you. You have always been able to get inside people's heads. It's one of the reasons you're such a damn good profiler. And such a damn good liar.

She asks you questions. You reply.

She makes jokes. You laugh.

And with every word shared, every blissfully unaware smile that graces her perfect lips, you fall just a little more in love with her. You die just a little more inside.

You wonder what it would be like to run your hands through her golden hair. You wonder what her lips would taste like. You wonder if her skin is as soft as it looks. You wonder, you wonder, you wonder...

You wonder a great deal of things. Forbidden thoughts that if ever discovered, would have the power to ruin you. To fracture this team that, despite its faults, and its secrets, and its fallen members, has become a family. Your family.

Maybe the only true family you have ever known.

You could never risk exposure. You could never admit your feelings. Forget the rejection, forget the embarrassment, forget the indescribable pain you would experience... You could simply never put her in that position.

She has suffered. You know this for a fine fact. She hides it well, but her eyes tell a thousand silent stories. She is the one who selects and discards cases. She is the one who effectively _'plays god,'_ for lack of a better expression. You know that it often starts to eat away at her, and for a while, she is not herself. You see it, even if no-one else does.

You see the pain. You feel her pain as if it were your own to bear.

Suddenly, she is pulling on your arm, mocking the fact you weren't paying any attention to your Boss when he asked for the team to gather at the round table.

You are aware of the poetic integrity of that fond nick name. The knights of the round table are about to do battle once more. You are about to don your sword and shield and walk forth into the fray.

You reflect on what may happen. You wonder if this time, you might not return.

Most of all, you just watch her. You draw comfort from the fact she is there with you. She will accompany you into battle.

And for that, you are thankful. For that, you would fight forever.


	2. Remembrance

You left them behind a long, long time ago. But now and then, more often than you would like to think about, they are in your thoughts. They are a chorus of familiar voices inside your head every single day. They praise you, they scold you, they give you the mental kick up the ass you need sometimes.

You wonder if maybe that makes you crazy.

To still value the opinions of people who are no longer a part of your life, and who haven't been for years, has to be just a little crazy on some level.

You cannot help yourself. You cannot help but wonder. It has always been a part of your ingrained, unavoidable personality to be _curious_, to _wonder_, to _want to know _things, if not everything.

You know that you are not the only member to leave. Just because you did leave doesn't mean you stopped keeping tabs on them. That's another thing to add to your _'maybe I'm crazy'_ list, because normal people don't casually all but stalk their former colleagues.

Then again, the experiences you shared with those colleagues were hardly normal. Not by any stretch of the imagination.

You know that he left. The mentor, the most experienced and knowledgeable member of the team left without even a goodbye. You know this, you understand this and you wish him well on his search for solace. You do not necessarily believe he will find peace, but you will his journey to prove worthwhile. Hell, you wish a little of that for yourself too.

You wonder about her. You know she has integrated into the team's internal framework with far greater success than you ever managed. You know she is a better woman than you. You know she is brave, and strong, and self reliant. You see little flashes of yourself inside her. But you wish...

No, fuck that, you _pray _to god or anyone who might be listening out there that she doesn't end up like you.

Because, truth be told, you wouldn't wish that on anyone. Least of all the woman who replaced you.

You think about the leader. Sometimes, you find yourself unconsciously fingering the scar that bastard left imprinted on your skin forever, and simultaneously, you think of the things you said;

'_Last time you sent me home Hotch you got me shot.'_

You remember the hate in your voice. The betrayal. The hurt in his normally unfeeling dark eyes. You were the cause of that. You and only you. Oh, of course you are aware of the fact he has many more things to worry about now. You know he has a thousand things hurting him at once, but you do wonder... You wonder if maybe, just for a fleeting second, he remembers you. And he hurts again.

She was always kind to you. Even when it was obvious you were breaking apart from the inside out and punishing them, laying blame on blameless shoulders, she was kind. You know she hides the pain well. She tucks it all neatly away inside a little box in her mind and leaves it there. You know this. You did it too. But she is so much stronger than you ever were.

She can handle it. She stood tall where you fell down. You admire her for that. You admire her for many things, but mostly that strength.

There are times when you think maybe he will never change. But then you remember that this job changes everyone eventually.

Look what it did to you.

But, perhaps more than anything else, you hope he still smiles. When that man smiles the world pauses and remembers that it's beautiful for just a moment. He throws his head back when he laughs, and you hope he continues to do that. You hope he will never forget he was stronger than the man who abused him. You hope he knows that he is pure, that he shines. You wish you had told him what a nice smile he had way back when. You wish you could have seen it shine just one more time.

Both of you were very different, and you often didn't quite see things the same way. But sometimes, her smile was the one thing to pull you through the day. Sometimes, you would leave your coffee cup on her notes on purpose, just to watch her grow irritated. It amused you. She grew wise to your ploy after a while, and played along anyway, tossing the empty cup at your head now and again. You don't know why, but you appreciate the fact she did. You miss her silly nicknames that used to make you embarrassed. What you wouldn't give to hear yours one more time.

Your thoughts drift to the kid too often. Well, he is not much of a kid anymore. Perhaps he never was. But he always seemed so much younger than you, far less experienced. And less jaded for it. You pushed him away. He offered you kindness and you turned away. He offered you guidance, a willing ear to listen to anything you might need to say, but you weren't ready. You remember his earnest, concerned expression the night he found you drinking alone in your motel room.

You remember telling him things you swore never to repeat outside the confines of your own mind.

He is a gifted man, in many ways. He managed to believe in you, which counts for something. You teased him mercilessly. More often than not you didn't understand even half the things coming out of his mouth in an endless fountain of information. But you loved listening to him. You loved watching his eyes light up at the simplest things; a new novel, a birthday cake, the offer of a game of chess. You loved his ability to keep the monsters at bay.

You still love him for that.

You still love them all. Regardless of their faults, of which there are many, for they are only human.

And you will never forget them. You will never allow their voices to fade away, like you did.

* * *

**A/N**: Just in case, this was from Agent Elle Greenaway's point of view. These won't really have an order or a time frame, hope you liked it.


	3. Seeking Solace

You have an eidetic memory. And you cannot picture her face.

You have an IQ of 187. And you cannot remember her voice.

You can read 20,000 words per minute. And you cannot recall precious conversations with her.

She showed up years ago and at first, nobody seemed to give her a chance. You especially. You didn't trust her right away. You said things to her you wish you could take back. You wish you could return to those early years and make the team see that Agent Emily Prentiss deserved their respect and admiration from the moment she arrived.

But you can't. So you settle for gently placing yet another bouquet of flowers on her grave.

It is impossible to determine exactly when Emily became your friend, your confidant, your advisor, but you know it was a gradual process.

She snuck up on you.

One minute she was just a new addition to the team, trying to prove herself to the older, far more experienced members, defending her integrity, her reasons for joining the Unit.

The next, she had managed to successfully duck under all of your well structured defences and was happily drinking coffee with you within the confines of your guarded self.

You still marvel at how adept she was at understanding you. Not many people can.

Gideon was one of the few who did. But he left.

Emily could. And now she was dead.

You can feel yourself crumbling from the inside out. You cry often. Great, heaving sobs wrack your body and leave you weak and breathless.

There is no comfort. No solace from this pain.

She died, right down the hallway from you. She suffered, and you could do nothing. She was murdered, and you weren't there to protect her.

When the pain is too much you turn to JJ. She understands you to an extent. She is your closest friend. You love her like a sister. You trust her. She comforts you when you cry. She lets you sleep on her couch when you cannot leave, cannot return to an empty apartment and lie there with your tattered thoughts and fractured memories. She lets you play with Henry to draw your attention to something alive and vibrant and pure.

Something untainted by the monsters.

You are a certified genius. And you couldn't save her.

You failed. The team failed. You swore you would always be there for her, like she was for you, and you let her down. You let her die. She walked out of the BAU alone and she died alone.

Alone. Scared. And in pain.

Sometimes you are angry with her. If only she had told someone, anyone, about her past life, perhaps they could have gotten there in time.

If she hadn't kept so many secrets she wouldn't have spent the last months of her life so terrified.

So isolated.

They say _'no man is an island,_' but clearly the author of that quote never had the pleasure of knowing Emily Prentiss.

She was used to being alone. She was used to keeping secrets. She was used to pretending. She was used to fighting her own battles.

And sometimes, you truly hate her for not putting her faith in you. You and the team.

But then you remember she did what she did to keep everyone safe.

You know she made that decision because she thought it was right, that there were no other options. That she simply had to fight on alone.

JJ's words haunt your dreams and waking hours; _'she never made it off the table.'_

And you never did get to say that goodbye.

So you visit her grave more often than anyone else. Sometimes you stand there for so long your feet grow numb and anyone passing by might have been slightly unnerved by the glazed look in your eye.

You try to ignore decay rates, statistics and other medical knowledge you hold with regards to the dead.

Because being here helps. Just a little.

It makes you feel close to her.

You fill her in on recent cases. You stand there, morning noon or night and you inform her of old cases that have now been closed thanks to the team.

You tell her you miss her.

You stand and stare at the words emblazoned upon the cold stone.

FIDELITY. BRAVERY. INTEGRITY.

Oh yes, Prentiss had all of those qualities. To a fault.

Then, when you can bear it no longer, you kiss the tips of two fingers and press it to the top of her gravestone.

You like to think maybe she waves as you leave.


	4. At Arm's Length

So close and yet so far.

Isolated and yet surrounded by friendly faces.

You're here, they're here, but you cannot help but feel that the luxury of acceptance has thus far escaped you. That same sensation has haunted you all your life. Relationships don't last long, friendships form and then dwindle away and you, for the most part, do not mind a life of solitude. That scares you.

It makes you wonder if you are like him.

The man who raised you. And the man who murdered many other women in cold blood.

How could he be the same person? How can one man be a kind, caring, attentive Father, and then when he is far from his only daughter… Butcher innocent woman like it's nothing?

You constantly remind yourself that he isn't you. Who he was does not define who you are as a person. His actions, as vile and as deplorable as they were, should not condemn you and should not make people fear you.

But they do.

You keep it to yourself as much as possible for when someone does find out about your heritage, it destroys the connection. Trust falls away; eyes shift at the last second and refuse to look at you without seeing _him_, without seeing the mutilated bodies of his victims.

You remember their voices.

'_How could she not have known?'_

'_How could her family not have known?'_

'_Why didn't he hurt her?'_

'_Why didn't she do something?'_

People can be so cruel. But you suppose they have every right to wonder. They lavish blame upon your young shoulders and you cannot fault them for that.

Because for every ounce of blame they place on you, you have already tripled it yourself.

They are a close unit. They are more of a family actually. They protect each other. You know that should _you_ be the one in need of protecting they wouldn't hesitate to help. But that doesn't make you feel anything in particular. Such an action would be borne out of a sense of duty, not out of friendship or love. You have witnessed them in action. You have monitored, observed and judged them all out in the field. Not maliciously, not even out of curiously, but simply because you want to learn from them. You want to some day be on their level.

Each and every one of them probably understands you more than you understand yourself.

When they look at you, it is as if they have the ability to gaze right into your soul. Every hidden feeling, desire, thought, worry… You feel like they can see it all magnified before their very eyes. Sometimes, you wonder just what it is they see, what the profile, when they look at you that way.

Agent Prentiss seems to have elected herself as your mentor. You don't mind, the older woman has a knack for making people feel comfortable around her. It truly is almost an honour to watch her interact with victims and their families. They all instantly warm to her, offer information up without hesitation, turn to her when they need to be comforted or just be told that yes, _'we're doing everything we possibly can' _in that calm, authoritative voice.

But your favourite thing to watch Prentiss do is break down a subject. When she goes in for the kill you feel tremors down your spine with the thrill of it all. The woman can transform herself from caring and attentive comforter to the most terrifying, ball busting, truth seeking bundle of kick ass known to man kind.

The respect you have for her doubles and trebles and quadruples whenever you watch her interview an unsub.

But even Prentiss is a mystery to you, just like the rest of the team. They do not reveal themselves to you. They make references to things you cannot ever relate to because you were not present when they came to pass. They share knowing glances and inside jokes and that easy camaraderie that comes with just knowing people so well and for so long.

Often, you suspect Agent Rossi stills sees you as the little girl he once knew. And feels the need to offer protection and treat you as such.

Now and then, you catch a glimpse of a scar on Agent Reid's arms and you speculate as to how he acquired those odd little marks.

Sometimes, you witness Agent Hotchner rubbing distractedly at his chest, and you think maybe he has some scars of his own.

On occasion, you notice Agent Jareau glancing at pictures of a little boy on her phone and you wish you could ask how he's doing.

A time or two you have looked into Agent Morgan's eyes and saw nothing but sadness. A deep, profound sadness, masked by his charming grin.

And more often than not, you question just _why _Garcia feels the overwhelming need to wallow in the theatrical, the bright and the colorful.

So you wonder from afar. You learn at a distance.

And you hope to someday be regarded as an honorary member of this family unit.

It would sure as hell beat the _'family'_ you had before.


	5. Actions Speak Louder

It started with coffee.

Friday afternoons with no active cases meant catching up on the paperwork that often piled up whilst the team was out in another state, performing in the field, doing the rather more action-orientated portion of their job.

Taking note of statements and summarizing the events and outcomes of cases doesn't bother you very much. You take a quiet sense of satisfaction from closing the completed file. It helps with finality. It encourages closure.

At least, it does for the ones that you solve.

It sure as hell beats the _'Self Assessment'_ evaluations you must fill in at the end of every month. Strauss, presumably just to add to the list of reasons to dislike the woman alongside the issue of her almost ruining your career, introduced them a while back according to the other members of your team. They've been a point of contention and ridicule ever since.

As well as laughing about the ridiculously vague, horribly worded questions and participating once or twice in a competition of _'Who can make the best paper airplane out of it in sixty seconds,'_ you also dread them.

How is one supposed to list one's thoughts and feelings on a flimsy piece of paper destined only to be glossed over by the powers that be and dumped in a filing cabinet?

So you write only what they want to hear.

**How well do you believe you coped with recent active cases?**

_My performance in the field, as well as that of the entire unit, was to a high standard as is customary. Closing the 'Butcher' case in San Francisco was particularly satisfying, and has succeeded in boosting morale within the team and myself._

**How well do you believe you were received by local police?**

_As well as can be expected in our unique occupation. Many were incredibly welcoming and helpful, others, less so. Overall, our presence has generally been very well received and appreciated._

**How well do your associates and yourself react to dangerous situations?**

_With prior planning and a clear mind. We approach each situation with as much delicacy and information as is possible, which often results in a desirable outcome for all involved._

**Are the dynamics of your team working efficiently?**

_Our particular unit operates admirably. Each individual member brings their own set of skills and experiences, thus we have the good fortune to have access to a wealth of knowledge which can be shared with the team as a whole and acted upon accordingly. We, as a collective unit, work efficiently due to out inherent appreciation and respect for one another._

**Do you feel added counseling is necessary to cope with the hazards of your occupation?**

_It is my belief that unless requested by a member of the team, the counseling and support systems on offer at the moment are completely adequate. Individual needs are different, thus my reasoning that additional support should be requested, either by the individual or on his behalf._

**How could you improve performance in the future?**

_Although, as previously stated, I believe my performance is wholly satisfactory, it is of course necessary to continue developing. Therefore, in the coming month, I intend to focus my attention particularly upon improving my overall sensitivity to civilians we may encounter during active case work._

You rotate between _'sensitivity'_ and _'target practice'_ and _'practical training' _to draw whoever reads your file away from the fact everything is repetitive and standard.

And thus, you wonder if this is the reason a coffee appears on your desk whilst you are filling out the _'Self Assessment'_ section of your evaluation. You had been concentrating on it so diligently that you did not even notice the cup resting there, waiting for your attention, for a long moment.

By the time you look up, surprised and prepared to thank whoever had been kind enough to purchase it for you, everyone is seated and staring down at their desks, making it impossible to determine the culprit.

And then, a week later, another cup of coffee appears on your desk. Not just from the coffee machine in the corner that produces a good enough flavor, but sometimes ruins an innocent Agent's morning by spewing out bitter bile. Oh no. This was the good stuff, just the way you like it. With vanilla and cream.

You glance up sharply and find Doctor Spencer Reid smiling brightly down at you. With another, rather gentler smile, he turns and saunters over to Morgan's desk and hands him a cup from the tray perched expertly in his hand. This goes on until each Agent is seated happily with a warm cup of liquid gold.

Even Hotch, holed up in his office, welcomes the younger Agent in and accepts his with a hint of a rarely shown smile.

Next Friday, JJ hands over a coffee and tips you a wink with a quiet, "Excellent taste Alex," before she too moves away and distributes the cups with practiced ease.

If this ritual has been going on in the previous month whilst you settled into the team and your new role, it has escaped your attention.

But now, here it is.

You wonder if this is their way of professing acceptance. You wonder if perhaps they glanced over at you that previous Friday and noted the worry lines etched deep into your forehead as you pored over the self evaluation sheet.

The next week, after a grueling case down in Texas where young women had been found with their throats slit, you are finishing up the last file you need to complete before heading home.

A figure looms above you and you start slightly, looking up questioningly to be faced with a nervous looking Penelope Garcia. You smile, hoping to calm her a little. She is often like a skittish kitten around you, terrified of saying the wrong thing since you overheard her talking about you that first day. "We're going out for dinner after we're through here. Dinner and drinks. And uh…" She fiddles with a bright pink, feather and diamond studded pen and you chuckle inwardly. How very Penelope. "We were wondering, if you don't have any plans that is… If maybe you would uhm... Like to come with us? I mean uh, you're probably exhausted and sick of the sight of us all but we would really like you to be there…"

She breaks off. Probably because she has realised you're smiling.

"I would love to come."

The grin that explodes on her face makes everything worthwhile.

It started with coffee. And it finished with friendship.


End file.
